


whispered through the trees

by notawitch2580 (gyllenhaalic2580)



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: EWE, F/M, One Night Stand, Unplanned Pregnancy, definitely prophecy, maybe blood curse, no ron bashing
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-11-16
Updated: 2019-12-01
Packaged: 2021-01-31 15:04:56
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 9,207
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21448171
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gyllenhaalic2580/pseuds/notawitch2580
Summary: thanks to everyone that made it through my long and rambling exposition :) this story has been in the works for years, and is currently looking like it'll be wrapped in about 10 fairly dense chapters. future chapters will include some fairly dark themes and mentions of PTSD-like symptoms, trigger warnings will be posted at the beginning of the chapter accordingly.-tune in next time for the hot goss with Ginny and a some villainous antics from our big baddies-
Relationships: Harry Potter/Ginny Weasley, Hermione Granger/Draco Malfoy, Luna Lovegood/Ron Weasley
Comments: 3
Kudos: 65





	1. Chapter 1

_ “Are you seriously eating oatmeal for lunch?” a familiar voice interrupted the quiet stillness of Hermione’s tiny office. _

_ The brunette nearly dropped said oatmeal all over her desk as she whipped around to face the intruder. “Ginny, for the love of Merlin, have you ever considered knocking like a normal person?” she asked indignantly, settling back into her chair and placing a hand over her still racing heart. _

_ The Weasley shook her head, her long ginger braid swinging behind her, before she unceremoniously shoved a pile of papers over from the corner of Hermione’s desk and perched herself there. “When your best mate starts dodging your owls and calls about your fiance’s birthday dinner, desperate measures must be taken.” She crossed her arms over her dark green Harpies t-shirt. “What are you avoiding us for?” _

  
  


She yanked the brush through her tangled hair with all her might, grumbling expletives under her breath the entire time. The late July humidity was overbearing even with the best of cooling charms, making any attempts at controlling the mess of curls, magical or otherwise, a complete waste of time. 

Hermione sighed to her empty flat as she rummaged around for a clip and twisted her unruly locks into an acceptable style that she only hoped would hold for the night. It seemed as if good enough was going to be the theme of the evening thanks to her procrastination; from the pale pink sundress that showed just enough skin to put her out of her comfort zone, to the last minute gift she had gotten Harry, to the mess of curls that were already springing out from the stupid bloody plastic clip.

She grabbed a light, cream-colored shawl to cover her bare shoulders and closed her eyes, envisioning the crooked picket fence just outside the garden of the familial Weasley home and bracing herself for the unpleasant feeling of apparition. Once upon a time she would have flooed directly into the Burrow, but these days she kept the Weasley family a bit more at arm's length. 

  
  


_ She felt the heat of the infamous Ginny Weasley staredown as she fidgeted and unsuccessfully wracked her brain to come up with an excuse for her strange behavior over the past couple weeks, before finally folding like a lawn chair. “Would you believe me if I told you I just don’t want to see Ron and his new fiance?” she asked, knowing any attempts at throwing her best friend off were futile. _

_ Ginny rolled her eyes and placed her hand on her hip. “Fat chance, Granger, I know you far too well for you to pull that nonsense on me. You’re hiding something, I can tell it.” _

_ Hermione sighed and laced her fingers together, trying to figure out how to drop this bomb in the most tactful way possible. “Well, I’ve been feeling a bit frustrated with, you know, this,” she gestured vaguely to the dingy, rundown closet that the Ministry had crammed her small division of the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures into. “I’m tired of my work not being taken seriously. I joined this department to make a difference, but now I’ve been here four years and it feels like all I ever do is paperwork that ultimately gets lost in the maze of bureaucracy and accomplishes nothing.” _

_ Ginny nodded sympathetically, but continued staring her down. Hermione squirmed in her chair and continued reluctantly. _

_ “So, when I got an offer from a rather prestigious firm that included an opportunity for solicitor training, I jumped at the chance,” she continued, pausing to take a deep breath before finally blurting out “AndithappenstobeinAmerica.” _

  
  


She heard her name being called before she even reached the front door, barely managing to look up in time to see a blur of red hair and freckles whizzing over her head. The figure paused and hovered at the edge of the fence, shooting a crooked grin in her direction. “Wotcher, Hermione!“ George yelled before swinging his bat and sending a bludger flying off into the horizon. He tipped his imaginary hat to her and zoomed back towards the game, just as another player descended into the garden, jumping off his broom and leaving it discarded in the tall grass.

“Hermione! I wasn’t sure if you were coming!” Harry exclaimed, pulling his friend into a tight hug. 

The guilt building in the pit of her stomach intensified as she leaned into the embrace. “Happy birthday! Sorry I’m shite for an RSVP, but you know I wouldn’t miss it for the world,” she said, pulling away and giving him a reassuring smile. 

The happiness on Harry’s face only made her feel worse. “Uh, I’m actually going to head in and see if Molly needs help with anything, but we’ll catch up at dinner, yeah?” she patted him on the shoulder and somewhat abruptly turned and walked toward the front door, tucking a loose curl behind her ear and cursing herself for being so awkward. 

Knocking would have been a fool’s errand on a hectic evening at the Burrow like tonight was sure to be, and as Hermione made her way through the entryway she was greeted by a barrage of hellos and a flurry of various witches, wizards, and objects flying up and down the narrow staircase. 

She carefully made her way to the kitchen, which seemed to be the relatively quiet eye of the storm. Ginny was idly whipping double cream with the turn of her wand over a large metal bowl, her attention clearly focused on the quidditch match that was just visible from the tiny window. 

Mrs. Weasley turned around from several floating layers of cake waiting to be iced and hurried over to give her a warm hug. “Oh Hermione, you have no idea how happy I am to see somebody who follows direction,” she paused. “Of course, always lovely to have you dear! I do wish you’d come for a good home cooked meal more often, love, you know I worry about how bony you’ve gotten,” she chattered, leading Hermione further into the kitchen. 

She was quickly set to work with the task of cutting fresh fruit for the birthday cake, and within the hour, dinner was being served on a long picnic-style table set up in the orchard. As the sun finally set on the late summer day, the food disappeared, the strong goblin-made wine flowed, and the conversation grew more and more lively. 

Hermione jumped in surprise when she turned to her left and spotted a sullen Ginny sitting in the chair next to her, rather than the nearly deaf Weasley relative who had previously occupied it. She nervously sipped her wine and sat back in the folding chair. “Hey Gin, how goes it?” 

The redhead crossed her arms and eyed her friend scathingly. “You need to tell Harry. Tonight, preferably,” she said in a low voice. 

Hermione swirled the ruby red liquid in her glass and sighed. “I don’t want to tell him on his birthday. I’m not leaving for six weeks, I think I can push it off for a few more days.”

Ginny leaned forward and hissed, “You’re making his birthday worse trying to hide it from him! He thinks you’re mad at us because you were ducking the invitation and apparently you were acting dodgy earlier.”

She covered her eyes and groaned at the mess she had created for herself. “Fine, I’ll tell him at the end of the night,” the brunette declared, setting her glass down and pinching the bridge of her nose. 

“Tell who what?” a familiar voice questioned, instantly causing her stomach to sink. She turned around and saw Harry quietly standing just beside them, Ron trailing not far behind. 

She took a deep breath and looked up at the pair. “I have something I need to tell the both of you.”

* * *

Despite the fact that she had drunk so much wine, Molly insisted she floo home rather than take the risk of apparating, she felt as if the conversation with Ron, Harry, and Ginny had been a rather sobering affair.

Of course, with the means of magical travel available it wasn’t as if the small New England town she was moving to was a complete abandonment of her friends, but considering most of the Weasley-Potters lived mere towns away from each other, they were considering it to be nearly as bad. 

She was still buzzing with anxious energy when she returned to her flat, despite the fact that it was past eleven and she had been fantasizing about an early bedtime for most of the workday. Hermione shrugged the shawl further down as she stepped out into the thick summer air and traced a now familiar path to her local pub. Over the years of living on her own, the hole in the wall muggle dive bar had become a place to get away from the magical world and engage in shameless people watching when she needed mindless entertainment.

As she leaned her full weight onto the tricky brass doorknob and pushed the heavy door open, another thought made its way to the front of her mind. _ What if he’s here again? _A quick scan of the bar revealed a couple of shadowy figures slumped over a graveyard of pint glasses at one end of the bar, but it seemed that _ he _ had better places to be on a Friday night. 

She settled in at a high top bar stool and pulled the clip from her hair, completely giving up on any semblance of control she was holding onto. She spotted the familiar stout white-haired man behind the bar and leaned forward to address him. “Can I get a double anything on the rocks please?” she asked.

He looked a bit put out with the vagueness of her request, but quickly placed a tumbler of amber liquid on ice in front of her. She slid a couple bills across the bar. “I’ll have another of the same after this one, keep the change.” He nodded and grabbed the cash before disappearing to a back room behind the bar. 

Hermione sipped at what she guessed to be some kind of cheap whiskey and enjoyed a few minutes of blissful silence before she sensed a presence at her side. She turned in her seat, ready to tell off the creep that was lurking in her personal space, but when she got a full look at the man standing next to her she was at a bit of a loss for words. 

He slid into the empty seat next to hers with a smirk, his white blond hair looking otherworldly in the blue neon light of the sign hanging above. “Evening Granger. I have to say I’m a bit surprised to see you at a place like this twice in one week,” he said, pausing to drink from a pint glass of dark colored beer. 

She pushed the ice around in her drink with the black stir straw, willing it to melt faster and offset the burning taste of the brown liquor. She knew she hadn’t been mistaken when she'd spotted him here a few days ago, but she had been fairly certain she’d managed to duck out before he saw her. 

“Seeing as you also had to have been at this establishment at least twice this week, I don’t think I owe you an explanation,” she said, a bit more harshly than she had intended. She was really only mildly annoyed with Malfoy at this point, but it had been a long day, and she had planned to spend the rest of her night lost in uninterrupted ennui.

He seemed unphased by the sharpness of her tone, and his smirk turned to a wide grin that she found even more irritating. “Well I’m having a bloody identity crisis, not sure what your excuse is. Forgive me for assuming but it seems as if this charming little place caters mostly to those who have a good reason to drink,” he countered.

He wasn’t quite slurring, but the number of glasses at the other end of the bar indicated that she had some catching up to do if she wanted to hold her own at Malfoy’s pity party. She finished the rest of the truly terrible whiskey, and a fresh glass appeared in front of her before she could set the empty one down.

She picked up the drink and leaned against the hard back of the uncomfortable wooden chair. “Not that it’s any of your business, but I recently realized that I’ve wasted four good years of my life on a soul sucking dead end job that consumed me to the point that my love life has been nearly nonexistent for the past year, while in the meantime it seems like there’s not a day that goes by that I don’t receive a new wedding invitation, it’s too bloody hot for my hair to cooperate with anything I’ve tried to do to tame it for the past two weeks, oh, and to top it off, I just ruined my best mate’s birthday by telling him that I’m moving to America in just over a month.“

Malfoy let out a cynical chuckle and clapped politely, garnering not even a glance from the barkeep or their now slumped over fellow patron. “I don’t know what I presumed you were going to say when I approached you, but that certainly exceeded expectations. Love the nihilistic flair you’ve picked up since we left school.”

A million responses danced on her tongue, most of them sarcastic, but she eventually decided to give in to the fact that she had picked up an unlikely drinking buddy for the night. She raised her glass and cracked a smile for the first time since entering the pub. “Cheers to that.”

Their glasses clinked somewhat carelessly, and Hermione nearly spilled hers directly into her lap. She laughed to herself, wrapping her other hand around the glass and setting it back down on the bar. “I swear I’m not even that drunk,” she told Malfoy, trying her best to play it cool.

He ran a hand through his short hair and smiled ruefully. “Famous last words for a whiskey girl.”

“Right, because drinking twelve pints of Guinness is so much better,” she retorted, rolling her eyes. “Speaking of, I want to hear more about this crisis you’re having. I aired my dirty laundry, it’s only fair that you do the same,” she pointed out.

A long sigh escaped his lips as he leaned back in his chair and crossed his arms. Hermione’s gaze idly wandered to his muscular upper arms flexing underneath his black t-shirt, before she turned her eyes back to his stormy countenance. 

“Before my father turned himself in, he made several hasty arrangements in some attempt to maintain the Malfoy image while he was serving his time. For the most part they’ve been harmless, but one deal turned particularly sour about a month ago, and now father’s former business partner is threatening to go after my mum and the estate for damages unless I agree to marry one of his social climbing daughters.” 

She sat quietly for a moment, not sure how to respond to this confession. She was somewhat at a loss when it came to elite pureblood family drama like this. “Do you have proof that the partner is blackmailing your family? Surely that’s not legal,” she pointed out.

Malfoy shook his head and smiled tightly. “Let’s just say it’s probably best that the initial deal isn’t examined too closely.” He leaned forward and motioned to the bartender for another round. “Now, if we could discuss something other than my impending loveless marriage, I’d like to know what Hermione Granger has been up to all these years. Besides frequenting shady muggle bars of course.”

She removed her shawl and set in in a heap on the bar, telling herself it was the alcohol that was responsible for the warmth creeping up her face and not the way Malfoy was eyeing her. “Thirsty?” he asked, raising an eyebrow as she tipped her glass up to reach the last of her drink. Hermione saw the challenge in his eyes, and it excited her more than she wanted to admit. 

“Parched,” she answered, crossing her legs and smiling sweetly. Two drinks ago she might not have been so bold, but she was finding that both the vile whiskey and Malfoy’s company were becoming significantly more enjoyable as the night went on.

“And I suppose you could say I’ve had somewhat of my own extended identity crisis over the years. Broken engagement, dramatic career shift, and now fleeing the country hoping it will help sort myself out. Yourself?”

Malfoy shrugged, staring intently into his glass. “Well, I don’t need to tell you what happened after the Dark Lord fell,” he began.

She hadn’t attended his trial, but she knew that he had made it out fairly unscathed all things considered. The Wizengamot hung for days before eventually coming down with a year long ban on performing any spells after everything was said and done. His father hadn't been so fortunate, and Hermione knew that Draco’s punishment likely would have been much worse had it not been for Harry’s last minute testimony.

He continued, “Returning to Hogwarts with everyone else would have been pointless, so I took the year off. After an appropriate amount of wallowing and a good bit of self reflection I decided to actually do something with my time, and that’s when I started learning more about potions. I returned to Hogwarts the following year for NEWTs and began an apprenticeship soon after. Three years later I’m the proud director of an experimental potions laboratory located twenty stories beneath St. Mungo’s,” he shrugged again and took a long drink.

Hermione studied his profile in the dim lighting. She certainly preferred this self-deprecating Malfoy to the arrogant brat she had known at Hogwarts, and she couldn’t feel empathetic toward her former classmate as she tried to lighten the heavy mood that now hung over them. “So you didn’t fall off the face of the Earth, you’ve just been hiding below the surface,” she joked, nudging his knee with her own. 

Her stomach fluttered when he turned to her and cracked a small smile. “I’ve spent the past few years living in muggle London and avoiding most social events in the wizarding world at all costs. Not that I can imagine I’ve been missed very much.”

She almost involuntarily smiled back at him. “I’ve more or less done the same so I honestly couldn’t tell you, but I have a feeling that you could charm your way into plenty of social circles if you tried,” she said.

He laughed and adjusted in his seat so his leg was just barely touching hers. She wasn't sure if it was intentional or not, but the close contact sent goosebumps up her thigh all the same. “I do have friends, Granger, though I appreciate that you think I’m charming, ” he said, grinning cheekily.

Hermione’s face went pink, but she laughed and rolled her eyes. “Don’t flatter yourself, Malfoy. Just because I said others might find you charming doesn’t mean I find you to be so.”

He looked at her with a wicked spark in his eye and smirked. “My apologies,” he said, downing the rest of his drink.

* * *

Hermione stared at herself in the mirror above the sink in her tiny bathroom, fanning herself with an old issue of _ Witch Weekly _ as she tried to calm her racing mind. At some point over the past hour her whiskey-soaked brain had come to one solid conclusion: she was insanely attracted to Draco Malfoy. Unfortunately, her one-track mind hadn’t had time to come up with any kind of plan, and now she was faced with the fact that there was a very handsome man in her flat for the first time in almost a year and she had no idea what to do with him. 

She insisted that he floo home from her place when they finally left the pub, as he was far too drunk to apparate safely, and the entire walk home had been charged with anticipation. She had thought they were on the same page when he accepted her offer to stay for a cup of tea, but so far had been the perfect gentleman, and Hermione was beginning to question if the tension was all in her head. She gripped the edge of the sink to keep the room from spinning round her. _ You made the move with the invitation, he can make a move if he wants to take it there. Just be cool, _she instructed herself, willing the dirty thoughts to stop running through her mind as she opened the door and made her way back to the kitchen.

Hermione bit her lip as she approached his tall frame, draped lazily over the rickety wooden chair. _ How could somebody be that attractive from the back? _She tried to act nonchalant as he suddenly turned in his chair, feeling her gaze on his back. She breezed past him and picked up her mug from the counter, turning to Malfoy with what she hoped was a neutral expression. “Sober enough to brave the floo network yet or should I put on another kettle?” She asked. “I feel terrible for keeping you out so late.”

Malfoy smirked as his eyes slowly traveled up her body. “I don’t think a cup of tea is going to undo all the Guinness I’ve consumed, but I’m not so drunk that I can’t remember my own address.” He stood up and brought his mug to the sink, that infuriating smirk on his face the entire time.

Hermione cocked her head to the side and dropped her own mug in the sink, turning to face him and crossing her arms. ”Is something funny, Malfoy?” She asked, annoyance breaking through her cool demeanor.

He shook his head and stood to face her, a mischievous look playing across his face. “You’re funny, Granger. The look on your face, I’m not sure if you want to shag my brains out or punch me in the face again.”

She looked up at him, very much noticing the height difference now that they weren’t slumped over barstools. His smug look irritated her to no end, but the hot blood that rushed to her face had nothing to do with embarrassment. “I don’t think those feelings are mutually exclusive,” she replied honestly, uncrossing her arms to tousle her unruly hair.

Malfoy pushed a stray curl behind her ear and she shivered, but made no move to pull away. “I think I’ll take my chances,” he said, lowering his lips to hers. 

They were both fairly buzzed, some might say bordering sloppy drunk at this point, but she was thoroughly enjoying letting herself be messy for once. She wasn’t sure if he was an exceptionally good kisser or if the alcohol was just affecting her judgement, but she honestly didn’t care at the moment. She wrapped her arms around his neck and ran her fingers through his soft blond hair, eliciting a low moan from the tall man. 

He backed her up against the countertop, and with a swift movement, she felt the cool surface underneath her bare thighs. She took the opportunity to pull his t-shirt over his head, tossing it to the side as she took in his bare chest with eyes and hands. Her breath caught in her throat as his lips began trailing down her neck, and she couldn’t help but push her hips forward, gasping as she felt the hardness in his trousers through the thin fabric of her panties. 

Malfoy’s hands slid down her waist, pausing at the curve of her hips before reaching the hem of her sundress. He ran his fingers up her inner thighs, and she whimpered when he pulled them back just shy of where she wanted them. He watched her squirm as he stepped back to unbuckle his trousers. “Impatient, Granger?” 

The frustrated brunette pulled him back for a kiss, simultaneously guiding his hand under her skirt. “Very,” she said breathily, as he quickly took the hint. She slipped the dress over her head, letting her head fall back in ecstasy as Malfoy’s lips moved to her breasts, his hand still working inside her panties. He trailed kisses down to her bellybutton, then slowly up her thigh, then finally between her legs as her undergarments joined the rest of their discarded clothing on the kitchen floor. 

She gripped the back of his head for dear life as he worked a different kind of magic with his tongue and fingers until wave after wave of pleasure crashed over her. She was still catching her breath when he rose to kiss her, but the tease of his hardness just outside of her entrance had her aching for more. 

Malfoy broke the heated kiss, dropping his mouth to Hermione’s ear as he ran his hard member up and down the wetness between her legs. “Are you sure?” he breathed.

“Please,” she whispered.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thanks to everyone that made it through my long and rambling exposition :) this story has been in the works for years, and is currently looking like it'll be wrapped in about 10 fairly dense chapters. future chapters will include some fairly dark themes and mentions of PTSD-like symptoms, trigger warnings will be posted at the beginning of the chapter accordingly. 
> 
> -tune in next time for the hot goss with Ginny and a some villainous antics from our big baddies-


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CW: violence, light body horror, mention of menstruation and pregnancy loss

_Hermione’s ragged breathing echoed through the palatial marble room as a familiar figure crawled over and sat heavily on top of her broken body, hopelessly pinning her to the floor. The witch shook the mop of messy black hair out of her face, sallow skin pulled tightly over her hollow cheeks as she smiled down at the girl with a mouthful of rotten teeth. Hermione tried not to flinch as Bellatrix laughed in her face, but she couldn’t help but let out a gasp when the deranged woman roughly grabbed a fistful of hair and pulled hard._

_She closed her eyes and braced herself for what she knew was coming next: the impossibly rigged “interrogation,” the hand on her face pushing her head into the cold marble tile, the gleefully cast Cruciatus... but as the seconds went by, the pain never came. The suffocating feeling was gradually replaced by a sense of weightlessness, and when she opened her eyes, she realized she was no longer trapped in the cursed halls of Malfoy Manor._

_Panic overtook her as she found herself plunged into total darkness, her survival instincts eventually kicking in as she began attempting to orient herself in the freezing cold dampness. She felt dense, pebbly mud under her feet, and as her eyes adjusted she could make out long grass-like plants gently swaying back and forth in the dim light. Hermione waved a hand in front of her face, the resistance against her limbs making her feel as if she was moving in slow motion and confirming the fact that she was underwater._

_She kicked off from the muddy ground, intent on swimming to the surface and making it to shore before she alerted any inhabitants of the lake of her presence. As she scanned to see if she had already attracted any unwanted company, a faint silver glow through the murky water caught her eye. She paused her ascent, treading water as she studied the blur of pale light. Curiosity itched at her brain, though everything in her screamed that it had to be some kind of trap._

_Against her better judgement, she swam back down through thick ropes of kelp and cloudy water until finally the silvery light was just within reach. She pulled one last dark clump of plant matter out of the way and the source of the illumination was revealed in all its terrible glory._

_Upon first glance, the girl could have been peacefully sleeping. Her long white-blonde hair floated around delicate features and a fair complexion, starkly contrasting the dark, shadowy water that surrounded her. Only the blue tint to her face and the angry red marks around her neck gave away the unfortunate end she had met. Hermione felt a cold shiver go down her spine as she imagined the poor girl’s last moments._

_She studied the scene in silent horror, trying to remain calm and retain as many details as possible for the report she would make the second she made it back to shore. The victim looked to be in her early twenties, though her flowing, long-sleeved white gown and dark green gold-lined cape were oddly out of place for how recently it seemed she had been left here._

_The gossamer hair partially obscured the girl’s face as it billowed lazily around her, seeming to move of its own accord in the eerie stillness. Hermione drifted closer, feeling the blood drain from her face as she finally got a clear look at the dainty nose, parted lips, and now open eyes of the dead girl. Time stood still as the cloudy gaze locked onto her own, blazing with an intense white light._

Hermione jolted awake, confused to find herself not in an abandoned watery grave, but rather on her lumpy maroon couch, a book splayed across her chest. She rubbed her eyes and swore under her breath. The nightmares were never easy, but at the very least they had stayed fairly consistent up until this recent underwater horror. She couldn’t help but wonder if the girl in the lake existed somewhere or if her mind had simply created the morbid scene as a new way to torment herself.

She sat up and tried to shake off the residual anxiety from the dream, tossing the book on the coffee table and eyeing the clock. She cursed again, hoping Ginny was in a merciful mood as she scrambled to grab her bag and a fistful of floo powder.

The curly-haired witch tumbled through Harry and Ginny’s fireplace to find the latter humming to herself, a levitating bottle of white wine tipping itself over to fill the glass in her hand. With a flick of her wand, Ginny sent a piece of white cardstock flying towards one of many stacks of paper on the table, before turning to face her visitor. “About time you showed up. Feel free to grab a drink and start helping me sort out where all these bloody save the dates are going,” she said, preoccupied but surprisingly calm in the chaos of her sitting room.

Hermione cautiously sat down on the floor next to the redhead, the bottle eagerly zooming over to her as she summoned an empty glass. “You seem to be handling the stress of wedding planning pretty well,” she commented, picking up a card from the massive pile on the living room rug.

Ginny sighed, shrugging her shoulders in defeat. “Red trim goes to stack one, gold to stack two, and black to stack three,” she gestured to the already sorted cards on the table. “They were perfectly organized and ready to be sent until Hurricane Teddy came for a visit this morning.”

Hermione dutifully sent cards to their assigned places with a silent flick of her wand. “After the way this week has gone, I’m perfectly fine staying in with a mindless task and some girl talk. Is Harry home?” she asked. She wanted to smooth things over after last weekend, and her moving date, though still weeks away, loomed closer and closer as she tried to tie up all the loose ends in her final days.

Ginny rolled her eyes and haughtily sent a save the date flying across the room. “Absolutely not. He was annoying me to no end all afternoon, so I shagged his brains out and sent him out with his mates for the night,” she said matter-of-factly.

Hermione nearly choked on her wine, not having been prepared for that kind of answer to her simple question. “Alright Gin, entirely too much information. What pushed you to that point?” She asked, half laughing and half wincing.

The hot-headed witch waved a hand in dismissal and went on, “Apparently my idiot brothers have been making him feel guilty about the fact that we’re living together before we’re married, because clearly we’re existing in 1903, not 2003.” She put a hand on her hip indignantly. “And what’s even more annoying is George has been the ringleader of the twats, all the while he and Angelina aren’t set to get married until next year and she’s bloody pregnant!” She continued, going red in the face the more she ranted about the situation.

She took a deep breath and folded her hands in her lap, a smirk playing at the corner of her mouth. “So I reminded my lovable dolt of a fiancé that I’m quite capable of making my own life decisions without the approval of my brothers, and that the benefits of sharing a house with me far outweigh any possible threats they could ever make,” she said, raising an eyebrow suggestively.

Hermione covered her eyes and groaned dramatically as Ginny laughed at her unapologetically. “Oh come on, don’t be such a prude. I had to deal with the fact you were sleeping with my brother for years and I hardly complained!”

“It’s more or less the same,” the brunette grumbled, taking another sip of wine as she tried to clear the image of her best mates _in flagrante_ from her mind. “And if I remember correctly, you complained quite a lot at the time.”

Ginny continued to send cards flying, abruptly changing the subject. “So, a month before the big move, huh?” She paused to count on her fingers before casting a devious look at her best mate. “Which means a solid eight months to mingle with some cute American wizards and end this eternal dry spell before you come back for the wedding,” she said gleefully.

Hermione felt her face heat up at Ginny’s teasing, the secret she had been keeping all week nearly bursting out of her as she debated how much she was willing to confess. “Sorry, I didn’t realize I was supposed to wait until I left England to end my _eternal dry spell_,” she said, smiling mischievously and sending another card across the room.

Ginny gasped, eyes wide as she turned her full attention to the witch sitting next to her. “Hermione Jean Granger, are you saying what I think you’re saying?” she asked, the pile in front of them forgotten for the time being. “When the bloody hell did this happen? Have you been holding out on me?” she asked in disbelief, chucking a stray couch pillow at her friend.

“Not exactly,” Hermione said, grabbing the pillow and making herself comfortable on the soft wool rug. “I kind of kept the party going after leaving the burrow last Friday and ended up at this dive bar in my neighborhood for a drink or two. Long story short: I met a guy, we had a very inebriated, very flirty heart-to-heart, and one invitation for late-night tea later we were defiling my kitchen counter.”

Ginny’s jaw dropped to the floor. “You absolute slag; I’m so proud of you! Sweet Merlin’s pants, I don’t even know where to start! Was he a Muggle? A wizard? Someone we know? Someone we’re going to meet?” she asked in rapid succession, raising an eyebrow with the last question.

Hermione rolled her eyes. “Gin, it was a drunken one night stand with a bloke I hadn’t seen in ages, and I’m leaving the continent in T-minus five weeks. Not a love connection, just a good shag to blow off some steam.”

The ginger witch sighed and turned back to the save the dates in front of them. “Fine, I’m just saying it would be very romantic if you met the love of your life right before you’re supposed to move to America, and then were so smitten that you couldn’t bear the thought of leaving and just stayed in England and didn’t abandon all of your friends,” she said with a shrug.

“Fat chance,” Hermione snorted. 

* * *

Hermione sighed frustratedly as she pushed a loose curl out of her face and wondered for the hundredth time that day how she had accumulated so much junk over the years. The contents of her bathroom cabinet were currently scattered around her on the white linoleum, and the late summer heat certainly wasn’t helping with the task of cleaning out, organizing, and packing all of her belongings aside from the bare essentials she would need to survive her last week in England.

A loud clattering rang out from her sitting room, shortly followed by the familiar sound of a broomstick and equipment bag hitting the floor. A moment later, Ginny popped into the doorway of the bathroom, still in her dark green robes and messy plait from practice. She waved in greeting and began peeling a banana she had casually nicked from the kitchen counter.

“Hey Gin,” Hermione said from her position on the floor, tossing a bottle of hair straightening potion into the green bag next to her. She looked up at her friend, noting dark circles under her eyes and the absence of her usual high energy. “You don’t have to stay and help pack if you need to go home and get some rest, you look absolutely beat,” she said, watching as she nearly inhaled the banana and then immediately pulled another one out of the pocket of her robes.

After demolishing the second banana, Ginny shook her head. “Practice was brutal today. I missed the last two with everything that’s been going on with George and Angelina, and I’m definitely going to be feeling those extra crunches tomorrow,” she said, pulling her wand from her robes and sending the yellow peels down the hall to the kitchen bin. “But you’re not getting rid of me that easily, I can stay for an hour or so and help you knock some of this out.”

Hermione nodded mutely. Angelina’s miscarriage had sent the entire Weasley family into support mode, and she knew Ginny had to be more exhausted than she was letting on. “Well, in that case, if you could tackle the hall closet I would be eternally grateful.”

“Sure thing,” the ginger witch said, leaving Hermione to return to the mess of potions and creams that lay before her.

After several minutes of silence, she heard a voice call out from the end of the hall. “Do you want to keep this or ditch it?” Ginny asked, a disembodied navy peacoat floating into the bathroom as she spoke.

“Keep! Winter clothes go in the red bag!” she called back, throwing a long expired jar of moisturizer into the bin. She picked up a bottle of electric blue liquid and turned it over to read the label, recognizing the smiling witch on the unopened Snodgrass’s Cramp Vanishing potion. A cold feeling crept down the back of her neck as she stared down at the bottle. “Hey Gin? Weird question, but um, you haven’t gotten your period yet this month, have you?” she asked, trying to keep the slowly rising panic from her voice.

A frustrated sigh came from the hallway. “The bitch has been with me all week, unfortunately. Have you not seen the volcano zit that I get on my chin every bloody month?” Ginny asked, appearing in the doorway and pointing at the offending spot.

She quieted as she took in the scene in front of her. Hermione sat cross-legged on the floor, pale as a ghost and gripping a bottle of Snodgrass’s in one hand while counting on her fingers with the other. It didn’t take much to put two and two together, tension coming off her friend in waves as their eyes locked in mutual understanding.

“Stay right there,” she said, holding up a finger and disappearing with a loud crack. Hermione sat frozen, the sound of blood rushing in her ears making it nearly impossible to think.

She wasn’t sure how much time had passed before Ginny returned, clutching a brown paper bag. She pulled out two pale pink boxes and wordlessly handed them over. The brunette reluctantly opened one, a white piece of plastic and a small folded paper falling into her open palm.

“Best of luck,” Ginny said, shooting Hermione a concerned look before stepping out of the room and closing the door behind her.

* * *

_Her high heel-clad foot tapped nervously on the ugly mustard-colored carpet as a spotty teenage intern paged the potions laboratory over the intercom. “Do you have a moment? The DRCMC needs access to the records for the cruelty-free ingredient paperwork,” he explained into the polished brass horn._

_“Oh fuck off Greg, they were just here last week! We haven’t even had a new shipment since then,” a familiar voice crackled over the speaker._

_The sandy-fringed boy blushed and shot a wide-eyed look of horror at Hermione as he frantically pressed the button on the intercom. “Erm, they’re already here, Mr. Malfoy. Shall I send her in?” he asked, his voice cracking mid-sentence._

_A heavy sigh came over the line. “Yeah, all clear to send them back,” Malfoy answered. The light above the metal doors changed from red to green as they opened to reveal a long concrete hallway, floating orbs of light dotted between each shiny stainless steel door._

_“Last one on the left,” the intern directed, handing her what looked to be a pair of heavy duty safety goggles. “Oh, and be sure to mind the door!” he shouted as she stepped into the hallway, the doors to the reception area sliding swiftly closed behind her._

_Hermione hesitantly pressed the silver button outside of the potions laboratory, instinctively taking several steps back as a loud ringing sound trilled through the echoey corridor and the door suddenly swung outward, missing her by mere centimeters._

_She was greeted by a brightly lit room filled with cauldrons of various sizes and long black counters littered with tools and ingredients, a tall blond man in pale green robes and the same safety goggles she had been given peering into a small copper cauldron._

_He seemed a bit taken aback when she entered, but quickly collected himself as he pushed his safety goggles up on his head and summoned a box from one of the many shelves lining the room. He pulled out a thick beige file folder and wordlessly handed it to Hermione before taking a handful of dried purple flowers and tossing them into the cauldron._

_“This shouldn’t take long; as you so eloquently pointed out earlier, most of the inventory was cleared last week,” she said, shuffling through the stack of papers. “You will need to start looking for a new supplier of Bicorn horn, however. Kedwell’s failed their last inspection and won’t be allowed to distribute until they can meet the Ministry standards for humane practices,” she said, circling the company in red ink._

_Malfoy scribbled a note onto a heavily marked pad of paper and turned around, casually leaning against his desk. “Who did you piss off to get records duty?” he asked, eyeing her curiously as she studied the documents._

_“I volunteered, believe it or not,” she replied, checking off boxes on the forms as she skimmed through the certificates of origin. “Though I did have somewhat of an ulterior motive,” she said, shooting a nervous glance his way._

_She felt her mouth go dry as he crossed his arms and raised an eyebrow at her. “Oh? And what might that be?”_

Hermione started the final walkthrough of her empty flat, scanning the freshly scrubbed floors for anything that had been left behind. It was finally getting dark enough that she could travel by portkey without potentially encountering any wandering Muggles, and her stomach was a mess of nerves as her departure time drew closer and closer.

She paused as she walked into the bathroom, the small room completely bare apart from an empty flask perched on the edge of the sink. The witch stared at the offending object for a long moment, before vanishing it with a muttered spell. The events of last night were still running through her head on a near constant loop, and she wished desperately that she could think of anything else at the moment.

She had fallen asleep on the couch after work again, once again dreaming of the dead girl as she had almost every night that week. Her search to discover what the nightmare meant had taken up a significant portion of her last days in England, much of her time spent reading dream interpretation books and missing persons reports that Harry and Ron had pulled from Department of Magical Law Enforcement case files.

Ginny insisted that it was simply a byproduct of the Muggle true crime shows Hermione was guilty of watching every now and then, but this was such a far cry from the usual rotation of PTSD induced dreams, she couldn’t shake the feeling that this particular nightmare was different. The gruesome scene of the discarded body haunted her both in dreams and her waking hours, and something deep inside told her that the girl was, or at least had been a real person--and she was trying to communicate something.

As much as Hermione wished she could blame the unsettling vision for her strange behavior the previous night, she was similarly lost when it came to explaining why she had quite literally thrown away her last chance at moving on with her life in a semi-normal capacity.

Her stomach turned as she remembered the bitter herbal smell of the dark purple potion permeating the room when she made the split second decision to pour it into the bathroom sink, ribbons of green iridescence shimmering in the light as the inky liquid left the flask and swirled down the drain.

_Malfoy stared blankly ahead at the now bubbling cauldron, his face an unreadable mask. “Is that so?” He asked, sounding a bit like he had been punched in the stomach._

_She nodded, her lips pressed together in a tight line._

_“Well, I suppose we’ve just made Rita Skeeter’s year,” he said, adjusting the goggles that were perched precariously on top of his head. He took a sharp breath, his expression still indecipherable as he turned to her and asked, “Where the hell do we go from here?”_

_She fidgeted with the rolled up sleeves of her button-down. “I’ve had a couple of days to think about it, and while I don’t think any option is without its downsides, I do think there’s one that makes the most logical sense.” She paused, choosing her next words carefully. “I wouldn’t know what to do with a baby, especially considering I just quit my job and currently don’t have a permanent place to stay in England. Combined with the fact that you have quite a lot riding on your recent engagement going well, I think it’s best for everyone involved if things are taken care of before anything gets out.” She kept her eyes cast down while she explained her decision, though she felt the heat of his gaze on her face as she spoke._

_“I’m picking up the potion tomorrow. I’m sorry for ambushing you at work with all of this when it’s going to be irrelevant in a few days, but I thought you had a right to know,” she said, turning to face his grim but understanding expression. “And, assuming all goes to plan, I’ll still be going through with the move this weekend. I think getting away from everything for a while might do me some good.”_

_“I understand.” He nodded slowly. Hermione wished she could see inside of his mind as his eyes shifted back to the salmon-colored potion, now foaming over the sides of the cauldron. “Well, this is quite a lot to process at the moment, but I support whatever you feel is the best way forward.” He focused his gaze on her earnestly, the emotionless mask slipping for the first time since she had dropped the bombshell on him. “Please don’t hesitate to contact me if you need anything. And best of luck in the States, the Ministry is clearly wasting your talents,” he said, gesturing to the paperwork laid out on the black countertop._

_She quickly began gathering her things, slightly overwhelmed at the unexpected intimacy of the moment. “Thank you, Draco,” she said, handing the folder back to the blond wizard. He wordlessly watched her exit the laboratory, heels clicking against the concrete with every step._

Hermione carefully picked her way through the clearing, darkness falling over the forest as the sun finally dipped below the treeline. She pulled out her wand, whispering a quick _Lumos_ as she approached a towering pine tree and began searching for the old beer bottle that had been hidden beneath the fallen needles.

In the quiet stillness of the wooded area, she couldn’t help but once again return to the events of the previous night, the hot tears of frustration that had run down her face as she held the flask in shaking hands still fresh in her mind. The idea of motherhood had terrified her so completely that she hadn’t truly allowed herself to consider it until the very second she raised the flask to her lips. A million things flashed through her mind in that moment, leading her into a spiral of self-doubt that ultimately ended with the potion down the drain and her head in her hands as she sat on the edge of the bathtub and broke down.

She shook her head, trying to clear her mind and focus on the task at hand. What was done was done, and she still had time to think things over when she reached her destination.

Hermione jumped when she heard the rustling of fabric behind her, whirling around to find a tall, impossibly thin man in long black robes standing less than a meter away from her. “Now, what’s a pretty young witch such as yourself doing alone in the forest at such an hour?” the pale figure inquired, sharp fangs glinting in the radiant glow of her wand.

She held her ground, keeping the wand slightly raised as she studied the creature that had crept up on her in the darkness. “Hermione Granger, nice to meet you. I actually had the pleasure of working with the Society for the Tolerance of Vampires last year, are you familiar with their campaign?” she asked, trying her best to remain calm and in control of the situation.

“Ah, the Society, that pack of raving fools living off of blood lollies and cute little bunny rabbits.” He chuckled, amusement playing over his gaunt features as he took a step closer, forcing her back to the trunk of the tall pine. “I hate to break it to you my lovely dear, but I’ve found that the vegetarian lifestyle just isn't quite to my taste,” he said, licking his lips and moving toward her at lightning speed.

She rolled out of the way just in time, her hands scraping against twigs and rocks as she clawed her way back to a standing position. Hermione ran blindly into the night, the moonlight above just barely illuminating the shadowy trees surrounding her. She had been able to temporarily stun her assailant, but her wand had been lost in the struggle, and cold fear was starting to set in as she realized she was only getting more and more lost the farther she ran.

The witch paused to catch her breath, placing her dirty, bleeding hands on the trunk of a fallen tree for support. As she rested, her thumping heartbeat gradually faded from her ears and was replaced by the sound of rustling leaves. She cocked her head to the side and listened closely, wondering if she had fully lost her mind as a pattern seemed to form in the whispering wind. _“The oak tree, the oak tree,”_ the voice chanted over and over again in the darkness.

She didn’t immediately follow the sound, still catching her breath as she weighed her options. She wasn’t sure how much time had passed, and she was well aware that the vampire could be using some kind of trick to lure her out into the open. Suddenly, the leaves began shaking violently on the trees, the whispers changing abruptly as they urgently called out a firm direction: _“Run.”_

She decided to take her chances, darting toward the voice as she caught a flash of pale white skin and a flourish of black robes in her peripheral vision. Hermione ran as fast as she could towards a large, wide-trunked tree at the edge of the clearing that seemed to be the source of the noise.

She cursed out loud as she tripped over a thick gnarled root at the base of the tree, hitting the ground hard. Her forehead throbbed dully, and when she raised a hand to her face it came away red with blood. “Poor little witch, lost in the woods with no wand to save her,” she heard the vampire taunting her, his voice growing ever closer as he stalked her in the night. 

Hermione could have screamed with frustration as she lie uselessly at the foot of the tree, staring daggers at the above-ground root that had put her in this vulnerable state. She managed to pull herself up to a sitting position, wondering if it was even worth the energy of attempting to apparate wandless and injured as she currently was. The witch searched the area for anything she could use to protect herself, her eye instead caught by a faint silvery light emitting from a deep, worn carving in the bark. She instinctively reached out to trace the symbol with bleeding fingers, recalling the whispering voices that had led her to this place as the wind picked up once again.

A loud crack rang out through the forest as the tree split down the middle near the base of the trunk, revealing a smooth carved out chamber housing only an ornately carved wand, glowing softly in the moonlight. Hermione didn’t have time to think, spotting the vampire at the edge of the clearing and quickly reaching into the tree trunk to grab the wand.

In an instant, the nauseating feeling of being hooked behind the navel and pulled through a dark tunnel overtook her, and by the time she realized she was being transported, she had already arrived at the unknown destination. Vibrant green moss and tall thin trees faded in and out of sight as she lie panting on the damp earth, the wand still gripped tightly in her hand. She briefly wondered if it was safe to call for help, desperately trying to stay awake as her vision went dark around the edges and the world around her spun violently.

Exhausted, Hermione let her head fall back onto the spongy forest floor, thankful to at least be far away from the crafty vampire despite the fact that she had no idea where she was or how far she had been taken. She felt a cool mist on her face as a light rain began to fall from the cloudy grey sky, and darkness finally washed over her.


End file.
